If I Get What I Want
by aeskis
Summary: Summary: Sam has turned DARKSIDE and is destroying the world. Dean demands to know what it'll take for Sam to stop. Notes: So I'm in one of THOSE moods. I admit I'm only on the second season of Supernatural, but I have inhaled a freaky amount of fanfiction. Sam is really OOC at first, but I'm justifying it by he's all evil and stuff. Yeah. XD Please review. Please?
1. Chapter 1

Notes:

So I'm in one of THOSE moods. I admit I'm only on the second season of Supernatural, but I have inhaled a freaky amount of fanfiction. Sam is really OOC, but I'm justifying it by he's all evil and stuff. Yeah. XD

Please review. Please?

"If I got what I really wanted …" Sam let his words trail off. He wasn't sure himself what that is—he could have anything in the world—but the odd impulse bursts from him regardless. He indulged in self-reflection for a moment.

Hm. Maybe that was the problem.

A minute passes. Then another. Dean's expression went from nonplussed to irritated impatience, and his gold-flecked green eyes narrowed. "So what the hell do you want?"

"What're you willing to give up?" Sam inquired, surprised at his own curiosity. He steps forward, into his brother's personal space to make the point of his greater height, enough to force Dean to rock back on his heels in order to keep up the staring contest.

Dean snorted nervously. "You going to give me some hints, man? I'm kind of flying blind here."

The Boy King cocks his head and lets up on the invasion of breathing room to circle the other man in a decidedly predatory fashion. Dean stoically refuses to twist to follow his calculated movements, a muscle jerking in his jaw revealing his extreme unease with the new Sam behind his back.

"You. Yes," Sam decided, after more minutes of unnerving relentless staring, not missing how Dean shivered in the bitter cold even in his broad-shouldered leather jacket, shoved his hands into his jean pockets in a stance of hopeless confidence, the glare leveled at Sam under long gold-tipped lashes.

"Me, what?" Dean wanted to know, bewildered and caught off guard.

After all, why not? Keeping the human close, watching his inner agony as he saw his beloved kid brother destroy hundreds of thousands, millions, of people with a wave of his hand, might be amusing. There really was nothing better than igniting a private hell inside a sensitive soul and watching it burn, writhe, and finally flutter to ash. And his existence, if he admitted the fact to himself, could use some entertainment, something that wasn't immediately broken.

Sam completed his circuit to stand in Dean's sight again, and casually pressed a hand to his brother's chest. The light touch sent Dean flying back, landing on the unforgiving dirt ground with a thud several feet away, and attempting to get to his feet but too dazed to do anything but prop himself up on his elbows and blink in hazy confusion at Sam.

Justification for his decision suddenly jolts hot, strange, and violent in Sam's gut as he takes in how Dean is sprawled haphazardly on his back in front of him, helpless to even rise and finally giving up on the effort, head falling back sluggishly and exposing his vulnerable throat as he lost what little ground he had gained, and simply lay there, staring up the abnormally crimson clouds in the sky.

The unusual moment passes, but when Sam looks down he can still see the evidence that it had happened.

"Sam," Dean sighed tiredly, shutting his eyes against heaven's terrible blood-red hue. "Just … tell me what you want. I'll do it."

"There really isn't much you can do that I can't have for myself," Sam felt the need to point out, to press on the open wounds and see them bleed. See if that … experience … was a fluke. Dean flinched in acknowledgement, and the surrendering shudder that ran through his body caused that weird jolt in Sam again.

"Well, no shit," Dean muttered, managing to get to his feet. "We both knew that before you agreed to meet with me. So why did you? Why bother at all?" Then a smirk lifted up a corner of his mouth, and Sam wanted … wanted to tear it off, replace it with something else. His growing exasperation must have been clear because Dean grinned mirthlessly at him. "You need to do something to me, Sammy?"

Sam started and wondered if Dean had somehow read his mind, saw the bright flames flickering in the chilling darkness his world now was.

Dean spoke again, and it immediately became evident that he had misconstrued Sam's intentions entirely. "I screwed your life up for you, didn't I? Came between you and your perfect Stanford scholarship future with Jess. Remember Jess?" There was a pained, guilty strain in his voice at the mention of the dead young woman who had been Sam's girlfriend. But he plowed on determinedly. "I hauled you back into the family business. Made sure you wasted the best years of your life for a thankless, dirty, homeless job that would never end until death do us part."

Sam stared at him, awareness of what Dean was doing trickling in. He was trying to channel Sam's attention to him, hoping to stall the inevitable destruction of one of the last human holdouts, that Sam would be furious enough to drag out the torture until the little creatures had escaped. Very noble. And futile.

The only response Sam gave was a flat, "You're coming back with me. Now."

Dean shrugged easily. "Sure. I've got nowhere else to be." The next instant, they're in Sam's opulently decorated chambers, courtesy of a groveling demon staff. Dean looked around and whistled. "Nice place you got here. Definitely an upgrade from all the motels we paid for while we -" He paused, and his breathing came a little faster and his voice trembled just a bit as he continued carelessly, "—while I dragged you along with me and my unending suicidal crusade to save the world, killing one demon at a time."

Sam pretended not to hear him. Pretended not to feel a tiny nostalgia for those ratty motels he had stayed in with his brother even as he was surrounded by the height of luxury. "Take off your clothes," he ordered.

Dean's hands automatically move to the buttons on his jacket at the command wreathing yellow smoke in the air. "Alri—Sam, what the hell!?"

"We're going to get this over with." Now that he considered more carefully, it didn't seem wise to keep Dean long. He was distracting Sam from his mission, reminding of … of a life that wasn't his anymore. Once Sam fucked him, the molten squeeze in his groin would lessen and he'd move on to his next victim.

Dean pressed his lips into a thin line as he tried to hide the sheer terror of what was about to happen to him. Then he smiled coldly. "However you want to do it, Sammy." He went to work on undressing, shrugging off the jacket first. Without its weight, his lean-muscled form seemed … smaller. Less imposing, despite his full six feet. Certainly Sam had outgrown his older brother in physicality and power.

Once he'd realized that Sam was staring at him, Dean demanded curtly, "Is this going to be a peep show or what?" Sam didn't answer, only watched with increasing interest as Dean hooked both hands under his shirt and pulled it off, hesitantly, an inch of smooth flat stomach showing at a time. Sam knew Dean wasn't teasing him deliberately, but his growing erection had other thoughts on the subject. He had countless whores available to him, alluring succubi, incubi, anything. Anyone. But he found he really couldn't remember the last time he'd found a scene as shockingly irresistible as his oblivious brother stripping in front of him.

Fortunately for Sam's slipping control, Dean finally just yanked off the fabric in frustration and threw it on the floor. "Hope your maid won't mind." He wavered again at the buttons of his jeans.

"Keep going."

He got down to his boxers, and then stopped again. "Look, Sam—" Dean was gritting his teeth, one hand hovering on the elastic of his waistband, the thumb on his other hand pulling the boxers tantalizingly low on his narrow hips. "Is this necessary? You want to humiliate me. I get it. But I really think screaming my lungs out will be embarrassing enough."

By now Sam sat on a luxuriously overstuffed armchair, never taking his eyes off Dean's jerky movements. Dean was not a virgin, not by a long shot. He got girls into bed easily with a roguish charm and a sensual smile on his lips promising an unforgettable night. But as long as they'd traveled together, he'd never once brought back a member of the same sex, or showed any inclination in that direction whatsoever.

Then again, neither had Sam, until now, when in his pants his cock had stiffened to aching proportions looking at Dean's unknowingly pleading expression and was hidden only by the shadows of the corner in which he sat.

"Sammy, please—"

"Finish undressing." When Dean didn't move, he added with a touch of menace, "Now."

Dean clenched his fists, and then did as he was told and stood completely naked in the room, refusing to look at Sam. This was fortunate because he narrowly avoided seeing the hellishly dark, hungry flames in his brother's eyes as they swept over everything, his chest and belly, the lax genitals between his thighs, the long clean line of his legs.

"What do you think I'm going to do?" Sam asked as calmly as he could, adjusting his position. As much the primal urge to simply shove Dean on the floor and force him open was strong and growing, he genuinely wished to know what was going on in his mind, how that martyr complex worked.

Dean flushed angrily. "What? You want me to spell out how to paint the walls with my insides? Too fucking bad. You figure it out."

"Tell me." The yellow smoke drifted lazily toward Dean until it caressed his face, which went momentarily blank, then cleared as Sam forced his power to subside.

"I don't know what gets you off, you bastard!"

Sam had to smile inwardly at the choice of words, but his impassive expression was enough to force Dean to start talking awkwardly but trying to make his tone flippant. "Uh—all kinds of sharp pointy objects. Whips. And," he swallowed. "cattle rods, if you want to get creative." A note of desperate humor enters his next words. "You're missing a rack piece in your furniture."

"I'm going to fuck you," Sam said simply, and waited for his reaction.

"A garrote—" Dean stopped and stared at him incredulously. "You're fucking joking about this?"

Sam laughed. "I'm not. Does this look like a torture chamber to you?" He waved a hand around at the plush arrangement of the room. Despite his plastered blasé attitude, Dean had been so focused on keeping himself together for what he thought was going to … to … that …. that …

Seeing the realization seep slowly into the green eyes was … interesting. And terribly arousing. Dean began to stammer, and Sam could hear his heart pounding. The heightened pulse. The helpless instinctive urge to fight or run. When Dean finally accepted what Sam had said, it was as clear as the click of a coffin closing before being lowered into the ground.

"What're you waiting for, then? A goddamn written invitation?" Dean demanded, apprehension obvious beneath his disdainful sneer, in the minute tremors of his hands as they rested on his crossed elbows, the involuntary twitching of his right leg.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam's character does a 180 about-face during this chapter.

Warning: contains fairly explicit sex. Let me know if the rating I chose was wrong.

Please review!

Seeing the realization seep slowly into the green eyes was … interesting. And terribly arousing. Dean began to stammer, and Sam could hear his heart pounding. The heightened pulse. The helpless instinctive urge to fight or run. When Dean finally accepted what Sam had said, it was as clear as the click of a coffin closing before being lowered into the ground.

"What're you waiting for, then? A goddamn written invitation?" Dean demanded, apprehension obvious beneath his disdainful sneer, in the minute tremors of his hands as they rested on his crossed elbows, the involuntary twitching of his right leg.

Sam sighed, long-suffering, rising, and stalked toward him. "You have such a foul mouth."

"It's part of the fucking package. I guess you'll just have to deal," Dean retorted, forcing his limbs to be still as Sam approached him, power crackling in his steps.

In the short seconds it took Sam's long strides to reach his brother, he admitted to himself that Dean's radiating hostility rather added to the entertainment, and he decided to be a little more lenient than he had planned. He raised a single finger to trace the familiar lines of Dean's face—the light shadowed stubble on his jaw, the faint freckles on his nose—familiar to sight, but alien now that he was touching him—and found him surprisingly attractive, even in a masculine way. Beautiful, even. Dean watched him in return, throat working in agitation.

His brother's lips were last. Sam followed their sultry shape, their curving contours, and abruptly wanted to have a taste. He bent his head, and, with more gentleness than he had intended, kissed Dean. Electricity coursed through Sam as Dean opened his mouth, for sure, to bitch about it, but the result was the same. Hot as hell in the depths of his mouth. Sam sucked on Dean's tongue and brought up his hands, burrowing them in Dean's short hair to maneuver him into a better angle.

Then Dean was shoving him back and wiping his mouth with the back of a hand. "You kiss like a little girl on her first date," he said coolly. "I'm getting bored. You planning to man up about this sometime, Sammy?"

Fury furled in Sam's chest in ugly yellow pulsations and he half-pushed, half-threw Dean to the ground.

Stunned for a moment, from the floor Dean only gave him a shit-eating grin as he wobbled back to a standing position, daring him to further violence, as though Sam weren't seconds away from tearing him apart and bathing in his insides. Sam grabbed him by the shoulder and slammed him up against the wall, drawing a pained grunt from his brother this time instead of mere discomfort, but he didn't stop grinning. Sam's fingers tightened on Dean's throat, preparing to crush, to hurt, to break—and then their bodies pressed together, with Sam's leg somehow wedged between Dean's thighs.

Back so close again, Sam noticed the little details he'd missed in his initial burst of wounded pride. The wide-blown pupils, with the gold-green color only a thin rim like a moon in eclipse. When Sam's free hand thoughtlessly slid up other man's chest, he found Dean's nipples enticingly hard. And there was a slowly hardening line of flesh against his leg.

So Dean was going to be difficult about this. Of course. He was Dean.

"So you get off on kissing little girls?" Sam said absently, one hand pinning Dean's wrists to the small of his brother's back, the other tracing lazy circles on Dean's stomach, stopping at the small swirl of his belly button, and then continuing further down until Sam's large hand was holding both Dean's cock and balls. They immediately grew stiffer, and Dean's hips twitched forward.

The darkening heat in Sam's eyes belied the clinically detached smile on his face as he patiently teased, kneaded, and massaged the flesh in his hand until Dean's cock lay straining against his belly, precum gathering at the tip.

"Oh fuck," Dean moaned helplessly, his head lolling on the wall; he would have crumpled to the ground if Sam hadn't released his wrists to place his hands under Dean's thighs and hoisted them up so that Dean's feet left the ground and he was completely dependent on Sam's strength to keep him there. Dean hissed as his sensitive cock made contact with Sam's belt buckle. "Fuck fuck fuck—"

And then Sam stopped his ministrations. Simply left his hand hovering but not touching. The yellow smoke was thickening, becoming almost … corporeal. "You get excited so easily," he said conversationally. "Sure you haven't thought about this before? Me holding you like this so you can't fight me, having to just take out what I give you?" Seeing Dean so wrecked and growing only more desperate was … immensely stimulating to the senses.

The filthy words he whispered into Dean's ear were about to send Dean over the edge. Sam saw the signs of the coming orgasm, and let go of one of the long legs to dangle feebly in the air while Sam shoved the other thigh away and up so that he could have an obscenely clear view of Dean's genitals, moved to forestall it by clamping down at the base of his brother's cock.

Dean jerked at the restraining touch and some come spurted out, but he couldn't achieve full release. He opened lust-fogged eyes and panted, "What the hell—"

"Has any girl touched you like this?" Sam inquired nonchalantly. "I really can't imagine one that could do what I'm doing to you."

"Of course not, you shit—" Dean cut off himself off with a breathless shout of protest as Sam's hand squeezed his painfully full cock, nails digging in. Sam looked down at him in heated amusement before he slanted his lips over Dean's open gasping mouth, swallowing his cries as Sam alternately caressed and held him tight. He obligingly sucked in Dean's scream as he rubbed a thumb over the weeping slit of Dean's cock, thrusting his tongue in viciously as though he were attacking Dean instead of kissing him.

Dean came violently with a hoarse cry and a series of shudders that shook his entire body. Sam allowed him to collapse into a boneless heap of limbs.

"I think that confirms," Sam informed him with satisfaction, "how different I am from your little girls."

Now it was his turn to enjoy himself. He closed a hand over Dean's elbow and easily dragged the unresisting man to the black silk-sheeted bed, lowering him down and kneeling between Dean's wantonly spread legs.

Still recovering from the intensity of his release, Dean did not immediately react when something slick began to press into him. The dragging burn of a second finger woke him from his stupor, however, and he thrashed, mindlessly trying to get away from the pain. Sam followed him, forcefully holding him in place until his struggles only impaled him further onto the invading digits.

….

Yellow sulfurous clouds hung heavily in the air around them. He had been mindlessly pounding into Dean for what felt like only a few minutes when he glanced over at the clock on the mantelpiece and realized they'd been fucking for at least a half hour. Sam had wanted to keep the incredible bliss of anticipation continuing as long as possible, so he had used his powers to ensure he wouldn't come and ruin it. He didn't care enough to wonder what Azazeal would think of that.

Coming back to himself, he looked down and saw that Dean's cock had gone soft long ago and that he was clutching the covers with a death grip, knuckles white, face ashen with agony, jaw locked tight to stop himself from begging Sam to end it. Mottled bruises were everywhere. Despite his efforts tiny moans escaped past his lips. Even as Sam watched Dean's eyes rolled up in his head and he lost consciousness, slumping limply back on the bed. Letting Sam do whatever he wanted.

God. How many times had Dean passed out already, only to wake and find himself in the same nightmare of Sam looming over him, careless of how he felt? A pointed lance of guilt pierced him and his erection wilted at the thought of Dean suffering so quietly. He pulled out, and hated himself when the sight of Dean's swollen, abused entrance leaking come—his come—caused a heated ripple in his guts. Made him want to forget about Dean's condition, to force his thighs apart again and plunge back in.

Dean slowly found his way back to awareness. "Are … are you … finished?" he slurred, unable to hide the hopeful relief in his voice. "Fucking … finally."

"Hey," Sam whispered. He placed a hand on Dean's cheek and leaned over to gently brush his lips over the other man's unbearably soft, bruised mouth. "I'm sorry," he admitted. "I got carried away—I shouldn't have done that to you."

Dean gave him a disbelieving look, and Sam's chest tightened.

"We have a deal," his brother only muttered in response, looking away. The tears did not hide the hopelessness in his eyes. "So … what now, Sam?" he asked dully. "You want another go?" He struggled to sit up, to turn over, before Sam hurriedly shook his head.

Sam didn't entirely know how to use his demonic powers for the purposes of good, but he was going to fix this. He reached out to the yellow smoke and tentatively swirled them over Dean, terribly relieved when the reddened bite marks on Dean's throat began to disappear, and the other marks of ill-usage vanished.

Dean released the harsh breath he had been holding and relaxed his grip on the sheets. "Thanks," he murmured. "You … you didn't have to do that."

"No, I really did," Sam disagreed absolutely, burying his face in the crook of Dean's shoulder. From the way his brother stiffened, he knew that Dean had not expected this kind of gentle intimacy, touch without a violent desire intent on only Sam's pleasure.

"Do you—" Dean swallowed hard and stammered uncertainly. "Do you, uh, want to do something else?"

Sam was about to say no, that Dean should just rest and recover, when he had an idea which, now that Dean was healed, should work to replace the memory of his prior experience. He gripped Dean's hips and tilted them higher than previously, until his ass rubbed against Sam's cock, which was beginning to take interest in this new development. "I do," he agreed.

Dean's expression immediately shuttered closed, and his hands moved unconsciously to grasp the sheets again. "Fine."

"Wait—" Sam floundered. "Can I? I mean—I want to show you something. Something good."

Dean's tight expression told him what he thought of that, and his next words were caustic. "I said you can do you what you want. So do it, Sammy."

"I don't want to hurt you," Sam said sincerely before he recognized how stupid that sounded in light of earlier events. "I mean—I'll make it good for you."

Silence. Dean only tensed further.

Sam would prove it to him, then. He leaned away just enough to slowly tease his quickly filling cock around the nervously fluttering rim of Dean's hole, and Dean made a small sound of surprised pleasure that was quickly aborted.

By the time Sam was done, he was determined to have Dean completely lose control.

Encouraged by Dean's reaction, Sam breached him only very, very shallowly and the tip of his cock was suddenly squeezed tight in Dean's heat. Fuck. Actually, Sam wasn't sure he wouldn't lose control first.

Dean lifted his gaze to Sam in confusion when his brother reluctantly pulled back out. "What—?" he started to ask.

"I'm going to take it really slow. Tell me if it starts to hurt," Sam said.

"I told you already—"

"Tell me," Sam insisted.

Dean stared at him, brow furrowed, and then nodded. "I—alright."

Taking a deep breath, Sam repeated what he had done before, a little bit at a time. The damage to Dean had been repaired, but inside he was still slippery with lubricant and come, so this time Sam slipped in much easier, until … until the crack of Dean's ass was flush against Sam's balls.

This—this was absolutely a better position, impossible as that seemed. Sam shook with need, but paused, hard as it was, and took a long minute to simply stare. Dean lay on the bed covered with a sheen of perspiration, breath stuttering in his chest, eyes shut to reveal only a sliver of green and lashes glimmering wetly, his taut body straining and stretching—but not tearing—to accommodate Sam's girth.

Sam thought wildly that he had never seen anything more beautiful.


End file.
